Truth slices deeper—
not like the surgeon's blade,
precise, practiced,
a neat line sewn shut.
.
No, truth comes jagged,
its edge raw and rusted,
tearing through sinew,
through marrow,
leaving us undone
in a pool of our own silence.
.
It doesn’t ask permission.
It doesn’t wait for readiness.
It falls,
a guillotine at dawn,
its shadow long before the strike.
.
What remains?
Fragments—
a hand reaching for what isn’t there,
a face reflected in broken glass,
the sound of a name
we cannot say without trembling.
.
The wound doesn’t heal.
It changes us.
.
Scar tissue thickens,
a map of what was lost
and what we still carry.
.
Truth does not soothe.
It does not comfort.
It only stands,
bare and blinding,
its weight pressing
on the hollow places
where lies once lived.
.
And yet—
somehow,
in the ache of its clarity,
we begin again.
.
Not unbroken,
but whole,
but real.
.
© R Gordon Zyne
-
Author:
R. Gordon Zyne (
Offline) - Published: November 24th, 2024 06:43
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
Offline)
Comments2
I also read somewhere that it was sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart.
Your right though.
thank you, 2781
Truth is something that changes depending on a person's bias.
Only the facts are correct, and the truth may be incorrect.
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